Star Trek : Sisko's Station
by Gojirob
Summary: A series of short pieces involving the lives, loves and history surrounding Space Station Deep Space Nine.
1. Caste Out

**Caste Out**  
by Rob Morris

Perhaps ironically or perhaps coincidentally, it was almost precisely two thousand years to the day before the Federation ship USS Enterprise, NCC-1701-B, answered a distress call from a small warp-capable trading craft from a world called Bajor, opening a first contact like few others.

But at this time, Earth was perhaps known to the Iconians, if it was known to anyone at all. One figure of note named Constantine had yet to even receive a dream of victory. Well away from such fractiousness was Bajor, shining center of civilization for as long as anyone could remember, and for quite a long time after that. The legends tell of this time and its hardy traders, solar-sailing heroes who sought out the final frontier during an era when even Vulcans thought that all of space was a concave dish filled with giant demons.

Yet legends ignore reality, and really, they have to in order to function. It was only in the time of the overt post-Winn de-politicization of the Kai's Office under Yarka Faitos that the real truth of the traders' lives would begin to be accurately seen.

But we may step around all that.

Gul Terol Emek of the Space Inspectors Guild always welcomed the sight of the large solar sailing vessels out of Bajor. Their multitudes of sails were a sight to thrill the soul, and a relief from the endless trading of real estate that was Cardassian life. The orbiting space docks were lonely places, a paranoiac defense against enemies that never came and never would, until invited in by Cardassia itself.

"Begin docking sequence."

Dark Clouds. That was what many of his people derisively called the SIG's people, and it hurt. They were charged with inspecting the Bajorans' cargo, but they were appreciated not at all. The superstitious fear of space overrode admiration for those that braved its edges.

"Clearance is granted for station leave for all Bajoran traders."

If this seemed overly quick, it was in fact a recognition of reality. Emek knew all these traders. They were, to his mind, better people than most of his own family members. His own hard-working people were similarly regarded by the Bajorans. But one name on the list did surprise him. Leaving his office to begin hands-on inspections, he sought out the person who held that name.

"Felem? Captain Noar?"

It was in fact Noar Felem he found. But his uniform was gone, replaced by what were obviously a cleric's robes. Oddly, they did not look like any Emek had seen in the twenty-five years he had been part of the SIG.

"Terol, my friend. It is good to see you. I have those jellied Kiulayeri peppers you love so. A specially aged batch. I have not forgotten my debts."

Emek smiled.

"I'd be shocked if you ever did. But what are you and your family doing here? I thought you were to at last rotate to your estates on Bajor."

Noar closed his eyes.

"We were informed by the Vedek Council's Legate Committee that leaving our ship-bound life would be a violation of D'Jarra."

Emek had to think for a moment.

"Your social status system? But your function as trader is the result of a contract made within your lifetime--by you, no less. It is not an ancestral thing by any stretch of the imagination."

The two moved to sit down and have a strong variety of tea that even traders and inspectors only downed when the docking was first done with.

"The Committee has declared our function a necessary and vital one, and of such long-term that it falls under D'Jarra by 'the obvious will of The Prophets.' Our estates are ours no longer. Space-trading clans do not have need of lands."

Emek shook his head.

"So you have turned to religion as a comfort? I hope that the Prophets offer a better explanation for all this than their mortal intermediaries."

Noar looked at the Gul with stony eyes.

"Do they still call your amazing force 'Dark Clouds', old friend?"

When Emek frowned, Noar put his hand on his shoulder.

"I will preach before my people tonight. Will you hear me?"

"I would be honored, of course."

An evening with a good Bajoran preacher beat blazes out of listening to the Land Ministries latest round of assurances that inside speculation would be brought at last under control. The truth Emek faced was walking out the airlock when he retired. Too much of his land was locked out of his own personal use in rigid portfolios that somehow never netted a profit for the wrong people. He would have no place to live, or even to be buried in. But for this evening, he thought as he sat down two hours later, his spirit could go someplace else. He had no idea.

Noar Felem began his talk quietly.

"Our friends at The Space Inspectors Guild must exclude from their received cargo items that are dangerous, damaged, or rotten. We traders-for such we will now always be-must exclude payments made from unreliable accounts or untrustworthy individuals or institutions. For commodities are things, and may be excluded."

Simple enough, thought Emek.

"But are people commodities? Are we mere things to be traded and cut away and relabeled as other merchandise to suit new theories of commerce and the needs of a select few customers?"

Emek was on the verge of quietly excusing himself from this familiar lecture on economics and morality when shocking words left his friend's lips.

"I say that of course, that is exactly how it is. We are things. Commodities. Items, excluded at will and at whim. And this is not a new thing. It has ever been thus. And never by our choice."

Terol Emek honestly never imagined that the gentle professional trader was capable of words like these. He was instantly compelled to hear more.

"We are told how we shall live, even when an occupation is in no way listed in the books of D'Jarra. We are commanded, not by Prophets but by men and women more like us than not, to endure the heartbreak and loneliness of space. For us, Bajor is to be a foreign land we visit and are never to stay in. Yet are the Prophets not to be held to account? Why do they not intercede on our behalf, when so casual and petty a wrong is done to us?"

Emek lost all desire to leave. The words were now feeding a part of his mind, and parts of his soul. Parts he had forgotten for their legally sanctioned dormancy.

"I will say to you that the answer lies in alliance not with those Prophets--but with others ruthlessly excluded. Our social position may be the weakest of all--but our Pagh is strong--and with those others who have been excluded--we will be at last made strong, and throw out those who dwell in palaces and temples while we are crowded into caves!" 

Suddenly, Emek saw all that he needed to do. For himself. For his career people, caught in the same undertow. Information. The SIG held the records of all the out-planet transactions for every man, woman, and child on Cardassia. From these vast reams of statistics and personal profiles could be derived. This knowledge could be used against some, and in favor of others. Those who had been excluded would, perhaps very soon, decide who wielded power. He stood up, chanting with the others.

"Our Place Is Weak, But Our Pagh Is Strong! Our Place Is Weak, But Our Pagh Is Strong! Our Place Is Weak, But Our Pagh Is Strong! Our Place Is Weak, But Our Pagh Is Strong! Our Place Is Weak, But Our Pagh Is Strong!"

The Pagh. The core of creation. Self-interest, called for what it was without frilly words and phrases and poems. To do to others what they surely could and had done to you--but to do it first and best. Emek smiled, and swore that he saw the eyes of his friend Noar turn red. He grinned as that same red traveled straight into his own eyes.

**ONE YEAR LATER**

The auditor was clearly not satisfied with Emek's explanations.

"What do you call the fact that everyone under your jurisdiction now owns outright enough land to live and to be buried on?"

"Hmmm. Good fortune? That is a goal of those that live on our world, isn't it?"

The auditor slammed his hand down on Emek's desk.

"I say that you have deliberately misused information gained through your office to bribe, threaten and extort a whole host of government officials and business people. Did you thieving Dark Cloud Guilders think you could hide all this? That kind of prosperity isn't meant for such as you. Be prepared for my report and the indictments that will surely follow it!"

Emek calmly looked at the auditor.

"Actually, we here have our own little name for the SIG. We never liked the Dark Cloud Guild. There are no clouds in space. But there is darkness, and there is a sort of calm, a lack of the precise chaos caused by sentients."

The auditor chuckled contemptuously.

"So what do you call yourselves?"

"We call ourselves what we are. The true gods of Cardassia. The holders of all knowledge and knowledge is power. The keepers of cold dark space. We are the Obsidian Order."

Emek raised a blaster, erased the auditor, and smiled.

"And you have just been excluded."


	2. An Unused DS9 S1 Character

**DS9** S1 Unused Character Outline - Setek -

Played by Ryan Rhys-Davies, youngest son of SF/F vet John Rhys-Davies. The son of Sisko's Captain on The Saratoga, he is a counterpoint in Sisko's life. Just as he cannot shake his own association of Picard with the actions of Locutus, so Setek feels towards Sisko about the death of his father at Wolf 359.

But since Setek is not supposed to have or harbor such emotions, it takes a much darker turn. He is also a counterpoint to Kira, who originally wanted Terrans and the UFP off the station. Whereas she refuses to help terrorists such as her old comrades, he does so in secret, wishing to bring down at any cost the man he holds responsible for his father's loss.

All efforts on Sisko's part to reconcile with the Vulcan are fruitless. As Starfleet's security man on the station, he also casts seemingly logical aspersions on Odo and his sanity/loyalty. Jake and Nog's friendship develops when both agree he's no Surak, but no one will hear them. Sisko's guilt over Saratoga and Jennifer prevent him from seeing that Setek is truly dangerous.

This was to play out in the S1 finale when he cooperates with Kai Winn and Neela's efforts to assassinate Bareil. Tragedy was to strike when a suspicious Keiko held Neela fast before she could fire. Seeing his plans to destroy Sisko falling apart, Setek kills Keiko, but Miles arrives to stop Neela. Setek is taken into custody as well, but in S2 would have returned supposedly rehabbed by a Vulcan Pangloss-type. Ultimately, an even grander betrayal awaited either in the Maquis or Dominion arcs.

But problems arose even as the first ep was filmed. Rosalind Chao had been promised a semi-regular status, and the premise of her probable death called up memories of an old conflict on AfterMASH. Nana Visitor wanted more meat to Kira's character, and felt that at least for S1,  
Kira's loyalties should be placed in doubt. Ira Behr felt that Jake and Nog's detective work on Setek was too Wesley-esque and could evoke fan ire. Brooks felt that the Prophet encounter in 'Emissary' cleared up most of Sisko's latent guilt, and that any residual would stay with him,  
corrupt Vulcan or no.

The final nail in Setek's coffin came in the form of public comments by Leonard Nimoy to the effect that a psychotic vengeful Vulcan was 1000% counter to everything the recently-passed Gene Rodenberry stood for.

So it was that Rhys-Davies appeared in exactly one scene, as an unnamed Vulcan who handed Sisko a report, raised an eyebrow and then left in an unexplained huff. His father told Ryan to take it in stride, and when Prof. Arturo had an alternate Earth son on an ep of 'Sliders', Ryan  
played the young man as an obsessive Trek fan--who dressed up as a Vulcan.


	3. Beyond Paranoia

Title : Beyond Paranoia

Author : Rob Morris

E-Mail :

Archive : .com/brightfame

Series : DS9, Post-WYLB

Rating : PG13

Part : 1/1

Characters : Two DS9 Faves

Two dead men discuss the fate of the Federation, after the

Dominion War.

Beyond Paranoia

by Rob Morris

SIX MONTHS AFTER THE END OF THE DOMINION WAR

"Hi. Report."

The second man nodded, after checking his sound dampener.

"Not too much to say. I haven't been dead as long as you, after all.

Suffice it to say that the recurring myth of Section 31 has been

reintroduced. It had been so damned long since we made use of Kirk's

disappearance, people had forgotten it. But now, when Starfleet

Intelligence denies certain actions--that denial will be believed."

The second man's face looked mock angry, as he imitated another voice.

"Oh, nooo--it wasn't usssss.....it was our evil twin, Section 31!"

The first man snorted.

"Terrific. You know, I combed the quadrant for any Maquis remnants?

Couldn't find a one. Where ARE the malcontents?"

He took down a drink.

"Of course, that just means we did our jobs too well. They all were

drained away to the 'movement' we set up, just to see who saluted a

rebel flag. God bless the ancient CIA. They started this, you know.

Those militia movements? Brilliant."

The second man chuckled.

"Be fair. You wouldn't have had such an easy time of it, had Chakotay

not gone bye-bye. Or if our stings on Picard, making him refuse future

intelligence work, hadn't gone so well."

"Well, of course not. But the fact remains. We used the Maquis to corner

all the malcontents. We used the Maquis to weaken The Cardies. Dukat's

psych-profile virtually predicted his alliance with The Dominion. The

Dominion pounded the Cardies into paste. Mission nearly accomplished.

Now, we just wait for the next Borg incursion, make sure that they enter

Dominion space---and watch the great war really begin."

"Absolutely, Mister Eddington?"

"Positively, Mister Sloane."

--

I've Been a-Walkin' All Night Long

by Rob Morris

October 31, 1952, 4077th MASH

Sherman T. Potter did not care to admit defeat. He wasn't about to do it

now. But he was tired. Since arriving at the 4077th in February, he had

kept up with the arrogant young doctors. Earned their respect by doing

so. But several weeks of on-and-off marathon surgery had taken their

toll. He was desperately seeking the latrine, but kept getting turned

back by people who told him it was somewhere else.

Damned stupid, he thought. To not be able to find something like that.

But if his bladder hadn't been about to pull a Niagara on him, he

wouldn't be up and about. Unbeknownst to him, he had been wandering for

a half an hour, all around the camp, more than a little dazed.

Among the things that dazed him was the lad the Padre had seemingly

pulled back from the grave. Potter knew what it wasn't, but it still

gave him the chills this Halloween. Chills, a few drinks, exhaustion,

and a full bladder. Worse than the daze he had been in that summer, on

the phone. Colonel Potter's wanderings continued. In a moment, they

would take him into oblivion.

"Hey, yo! Colonel! Stop!"

A man Potter had never seen before grabbed him.

"What's the idea, pardner? I need to evacuate my-Everything!"

The man looked at him calmly, as though he had not a worry in the world.

"Yeah, Colonel? Well, where I come from, we do that in the Latrine, not

the MINE FIELD!"

Potter looked out ahead of him. In his almost blind daze, he had nearly

promoted Pierce and Winchester, and given Mildred the chance to take

over his workshop. Not that they would have seen it that way.

"C'mon, Sherm! We types gotta stick together! I'm stuck out here most

nights anyway. I'm just lucky that you could notice me tonight. At least

this place is better than that sorry stretch of beach. Gets...lonely. By

the by, thanks for taking such good care of Radar. I worry about him

still sometimes."

Potter's new friend guided him to the latrine. He heard Klinger on the

outside say "Colonel?", and then run off. Sherman didn't care. He would

ask his new company clerk what he wanted---tomorrow. Right now, his

relief was too great.

"Thank You, soooo much, friend. I'm still beat, but I'm not feelin' it

like I was. I..."

As Potter entered his tent, he saw that his hero had left, quite

suddenly, and quite silently. The Colonel vowed to find that man and

properly thank him-when he woke up.

The next morning, Colonel Sherman T. Potter, feeling better than he had

in ages, saw his company clerk, Maxwell Q. Klinger, staring dumbfounded

at a picture. Both Colonel and Clerk saw in that picture something that put a chill

down their spines. The picture was of Walter O'Reilly-Radar-and another

man.

"Corporal Klinger, is that man in the picture who I think it looks like

?"

Potter's voice was almost trembling.

"I think so, Sir."

Klinger's voice WAS trembling.

"Is he the fella who helped me away from the mine-field and into the

latrine? The one we both saw last night, alive as you and me!?"

Klinger, more than a little thrown, nodded yes, and then added:

"Yes, sir. I don't pretend to know how, but I'd swear that was Colonel

Blake."

Halloween had given way to All Souls Day. But the touch of what happened

that night would not leave Klinger's office for the duration of the war.

Not then, nor later that day, when a fishing cap covered with hooks was

found on the door to the officers' latrine.

---

Bonus Story

The Halloween Visitor

by Rob Morris

OCTOBER 31ST, 1967

MORNING GLORY CIRCLE

WESTPORT, CONNECTICUT

The mortal man answered the knock on the door. His not-so-mortal wife

and her mother were away settling some business from earlier in the

evening, and their daughter was asleep.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

The man looked very much the gentleman, and he smiled much like one.

For this evening and this time and place, it is exactly who he would

remain.

"Yes, sir. Is this by any chance the home of Miss Samantha

Endoratochter?"

The man had heard his wife's maiden name so rarely, it took a moment or

two to register.

"Yes. Sorry. I'm her husband, Darrin Stephens. Sir--please tell me

you're not a warlock."

The white-grey haired, Continental-sounding man laughed mildly with a

slight rasp, and nodded.

"No, Mister Stephens. Not a warlock. Yet I see that Endora's family is

as pleasant to in-laws as ever. Tell me, is her brother Arthur still a

dolt, and her sister Clara still an angel?"

Darrin gestured into his house.

"Are they ever."

But the man just stood there. Darrin was puzzled.

"Errr...please come in."

The regal man then did just that, smiling lightly.

"The old courtesies are still the best, don't you think, Mister

Stephens? I retain bitter memories of the sudden comings and goings of

my ex-wife's family. Magi Naturum, except for Samantha and Clara, tend

to have no respect for decorum, privacy, or the sanctity of a man's

home. Don't you agree?"

Stephens felt he had met a kindred spirit, and he had, up to a point.

Learning his visitor's name, he nodded in agreement.

"Its Darrin. And I could not possibly agree more. Sir, can I get you a

drink?"

The man pointed to a golden decanter.

"That is an Elixir Omne Aster. If memory serves, it will provide the

proper mead to quench the thirst of whomever it is poured for. Care to

join me, Darrin?"

The decanter was a concession to the reality Darrin dwelt in, a way of

keeping Sam's relatives from zapping up drinks right in front of Mrs.

Kravitz's binoculars. Not wishing to be rude, Darrin first poured his

guest a drink, the saltiest version of that famous drink he'd ever

smelled, yet the man refused the standard celery stick or ice. He then

poured himself the standard double martini he would continue swilling

until a futuristic doctor made entirely out of light told him flatly

this would kill him.

"So you're not a warlock, but you were married to Endora? I thought

non-magi was a no-no, and that she and Maurice were just separated."

The man sipped his drink, seemed if anything even more centered, and

nodded.

"Well, neither am I hu--mortal. At least, not any longer. As to the

rest, 'separated' is a euphemism that Samantha and her half-sister Peggy

Hayden..."

Darrin raised a finger, and interrupted.

"Peg Hunnicutt. She married a doctor back around 1950, and they live

out on the coast, near San Francisco."

His guest smiled, grateful for the update.

"Thank you. In any event, separated was their euphemism for a painful

situation. In fact, I remain convinced that Endora married me mainly to

punish the witches' council for delaying her divorce for so very long.

We lasted for a time on passion, yet that is rarely enough. Her children

and mine did not get on, though my Nicholas and Samantha remain friendly

enough, with time and distance helping as they always do."

Darrin raised his hand.

"You, sir, are a real gentleman. I can honestly say that I've never

encountered a more--forgive me--normal member of Sam's extended circle.

You're actually talking to me like I mattered."

Perhaps any number of answers came to the mind of the visitor. But it

had been a pleasant talk, and he saw no need to alter this.

"I have my own differences with mortals, Darrin. But I know that Endora

and hers give outsiders of any stripe little or no breathing room. So

let me conclude this visit by saying that we all matter, each in his own

way."

He got up to leave, and Darrin shook his hand.

"Listen, I can find a babysitter for Tabitha. The restaurants are open

late. What say I take you to dinner? Just two non-warlocks, bemoaning

our fates over steak and potatoes."

"Not my meal of choice, Darrin, though your offer is most gracious. No.

I merely wished to speak with Samantha about the establishing of legal

identities minus the usual documents. Another time, perhaps. For myself

alone, let me say that she seems to have chosen a fine man to take as

her husband."

"And why am I not surprised that Endora couldn't take someone as polite

as you?"

The man left as he had arrived, and he was gone more quickly than

Darrin could account for, minus witchcraft. Outside a minute later,

Darrin saw Mrs. Kravitz shaking, and pointing her finger.

"Just what kind of things do you let in that house of yours? That one

just up and fl---"

Stephens sighed.

"Mrs. Kravitz--you know what my costume is? A man telling his neighbor

to mind her own business. Just this once, alright?"

Looking wholly unnerved, the busybody retreated, and Darrin shook his

head as he went inside.

Three hours later, Samantha and Endora were horrified to hear of the

visitor. Endora checked Darrin's neck.

"If he dared harm you...even you, Derrwood, I swear that I'll make him

into a bat for real!"

Darrin had seen a lot of things in his mother-in-law's eyes. True and

open concern for his well-being was a new one, though.

"Sam, what's with your mother? I thought he was a man with real class.

Like a blue-blood or something."

The not-at-all-dumb blonde began the explanation in her usual way.

"Welllll..."

It would be a week before Darrin Stephens coaxed out of his wife the

true nature of Lucien Lacroix.


	4. Created

**Created**

By Rob Morris

BAJOR, 2364

It was a time when even diplomatic intervention by the almighty Federation seemed remote, and Cardassian withdrawal was the dream of deluded fools.

Though not yet officially a Vedek, Senior Mass Cleric Winn Adami was also officially not a part of the Resistance. But her accession to the one title seemed at least likely. Her role in the other was limited to a very grim but necessary duty. When there is an underground resistance to an occupying force, then inevitably there are those who turn traitor. They were dealt with by Winn Adami.

"You have done far more than pass mere scraps of paper, child. You have broken faith with the Prophets. If you fail to confess, then I must give you over to this very professional team of--and I do not even like to say this word--killers."

The woman--girl, really--looked up at her.

"Intercessor--I am innocent. I have not betrayed anyone. Please! If I die falsely condemned, I will know no rest."

She had been tortured, but never in Winn's sight. That was important. The condemned had to see her as a last chance, not part of the program.

"Where you are headed, child--rest is not a concern. Their howls, the howls of the always-excluded, will see to that. Take her away."

The future Kai made a show of standing serenely as the girl pleaded and was led off, her howls coming early. When she and her executioners were gone off, Mass Cleric Bareil, a known part of the resistance, made a risky visit.

"Bareil? To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Cleric, I cannot stay. But when the girl accused of collaboration is brought here, release her. Our source was the traitor, not that poor child. How will she or the Prophets forgive our torture?"

The Occupation bred rampant brutality. Winn knew this. But as Bareil vanished anew, her innate shame also made her realize something else. Her loyal aide was called for.

"Sobor, act to have that squad return here. The girl will be--pardoned--it seems."

Sobor shook his head.

"Intercessor, I have already received word. That squad was caught in a Cardassian ambush. The bodies are either mangled or ashen. Even DNA reclamation may not be possible."

Winn made one of a series of wrong moves in her life.

"Record that we believe it possible that the girl was taken prisoner by the Cardassians. That she may still be alive."

"Intercessor?!"

She turned and looked him in the eye.

"This is war, Sobor. In war, a great many things happen. And an even greater amount of things are made to never happen."

* * *

Inside the unmarked post that was the Obsidian Order's Bajoran headquarters, a living young woman viewed the body of a dead one.

"Then this will be my face?"

Her handler nodded.

"When you are properly programmed, it will have always been your face. Your memories will only return if you face a situation somehow not covered in our preparations. Small chance of that. I have to ask again. Are you prepared?"

Illeana Ghemor was resolute.

"It is possible my father is a traitor. My actions here will clear our family of taint, if this proves to be the case. Besides--I won't know the difference anymore than she does, right?"

The handler smiled.

"So much work getting her here. Profiling a potential face donor, finding the ones who matched and best met that profile, and then seeding the Resistance with that profile. Waiting for one of them to end up with a 'Law And Order' Mass Cleric for judgment. Now, this poor victim of the Bajorans' inability to see the strings lies here, only a little more insensate than those who condemned her."

"What happens when she--when I--reemerge?"

"Simplicity, my dear. No one will say a thing. Who will want to remind people of the girl they unjustly sent to her death?"

The soon-to-be deep-cover agent caressed the victim's face, almost tenderly.

"Thank you for your generosity, Seska."


	5. Shaking Loose

**Shaking Loose**  
by Rob Morris

The Federation was facing a coup.

The Federation was gaining security.

A telling blow would be delivered to The Dominion's efforts at infiltration.

A fatal blow would be delivered to The United Federation Of Planets.

Sisko reminded himself that Jefferson, who had spoken at length about security vs. freedom, would have regarded DS9's CO as a non-entity, and never had to deal with shapeshifters.

The Emissary Of The Prophets sat on the park bench, very much a man alone.

At Starfleet Medical, Odo's tests were finished.

"How do you feel, Constable?"

Odo nodded.

"Fantastic. You say this substance is a neural network enhancer?"

The physician nodded.

"Dangerous, potentially, but useful in finding out what a sentient can really do, under rarefied circumstances. It bypasses any sort of nervous system and merely searches out the relay signals themselves, which we presume to be endemic to almost all beings. Thanks to you, we now know this to be true of Shapeshifters as well."

Odo stared in the mirror.

"I feel like I can do anything. Literally anything."

"It has that giddy effect. For a few hours, people of all sorts find perfection. It'll overload you, in time. So we only ever use it once, even for tests like these. Vulcans find their non-emotional center, Andorians their so-called 'Perfect Fury', while humans have been known to complete whole projects before the stuff wears off."

Odo nodded.

"Am I done?"

"Absolutely. And Constable? Don't feel like you've betrayed your people. You're instead giving them a real chance for peace."

"That's why I'm here."

Well after Odo left, the physician pulled out a small communicator.

"Mister Sloane? It is done."

----------

In the park, Odo as an eagle spotted a despondent Captain Sisko, and saw that he looked like a man lost in a bad dream. Vedek Bareil had once told him that the way out of bad dreams was to look for something that, even by the dream's standards, shouldn't be there.

Odo decided to put his temporarily enhanced abilities to the test.

As Sisko sat, he saw a familiar face.

"Chief?"

But no, Miles O'Brien was on the other side of the galaxy, which meant that Captain Sisko was facing a shapeshifter.

"Oh, don't bother calling Security. I'll be gone before then. I'm not here to attack, anyway. Just to talk."

"About what?"

"You know how many shapeshifters there are on this entire planet? Four. You humans are going to impale yourselves on your own fear."

"Why are you telling me this?"

The not-O'Brien smiled.

"Because either way, you can't stop us. But this way is easier. You'll prepare your people for the loss of their freedoms under us. Thanks. The Dominion appreciates your effort."

The one sure way to get Sisko's goat was to tell him something couldn't be done. Also, the taunting cleared his head of the coup-leaders' obfuscation and appeals to misguided patriotism.

Which, to be certain, was exactly what Odo, who had to feign anger at the infiltration later, had intended when he used his briefly enhanced abilities to disguise himself as Miles O'Brien. On that day, Odo had saved the Federation--and possibly doomed his people. Yet even in that doom was to be found seeds of the war's end. 

* * *

TWO WEEKS LATER, DEEP SPACE NINE

Jake wrote in his journal, but shook his head.

"Dad--I thought the shapeshifters had studied human psychology. So why does this one taunt you in such a way that's nearly certain to upset the Dominion's apple cart?"

Captain Sisko thought of plans within plans, but finally gave up.

"I can't say, son. But maybe--just maybe-- this shapeshifter was somehow a friend."

The bonsai tree on Sisko's desk, waiting for a member of the cleaning/maintenance staff suspected of information leakage couldn't have agreed more.


	6. The Confrontation

The Confrontation

By Rob Morris

The new Sovereign-Class Enterprise was docked at the newly-recovered Deep Space Nine. While Kira prepared poor Ziyal's funeral, Jadzia Dax bypassed her mentor/student, Captain Sisko, and boarded the Enterprise, there to lay final claim to a heart that was already hers.

She saw Deanna Troi emerge from her quarters, a well-built nightmare. Dax made her choice, then and there.

"Counselor--I want words with you."

Deanna nodded.

"Yes, wh---"

Jadzia briskly cut her off.

"Oh, no you don't. None of that counselor's babble, lady. You just listen to me, and you listen good."

Deanna sensed her tension.

"May I just ask a question, before you start?"

"No, no--you may not. No way are you turning this around on me. Now, get this into your bouncy head--he's mine. The wedding is in one week, and I'd really much prefer that you weren't there."

Deanna raised a finger.

"If I could just ask that question, now..."

But Dax was having none of that.

"I'm not finished--but you and he are. Oh, sure--he still talks about you. I can tell he still thinks about you. But you walked away from the battle for his heart. Well, I fought that battle--for two long years! And I won it, fair and square. I was there for him, as he lost his brother. I was there for him, when he regained his son. As the exile hit home, I was there for him. Having gained all that through a ridiculous amount of struggle, I'm not having you bat your eyes at him as we begin

the rest of our lives. So this is an official un-invite-- don't be there. Understand me?"

Deanna's face wore a bit of exasperation.

"I almost do understand you. But now, may I ask my question?"

Smiling lightly, Dax shrugged in triumph.

"Hey, I've said my piece. Ask away."

Deanna's face now shifted to one of absolute puzzlement as she made her query to Dax.

"Who ARE you?"


	7. Boos, Bajor & Bumps In The Night

Title : Boos, Bajor, And Bumps In The Night

Author : 'Goji' Rob Morris

Series : DS9

Type : Halloween stories; Drabble format

Part : 1/1

Characters : Various DS9 cast members

Rating : PG-PG13

Summary : In a series of shorts, we see Halloween on a station far from Earth, but where the spirit comes alive nonetheless.

Boos, Bajor and Bumps In The Night

By Rob Morris

----------------

*Irony Is Nothing*

She watched the original, and then saw the series decline.

She saw it ended about three times.

She saw more teens regret sexual relations than she ever cared to.

She saw the fiend team with another fiend. She then saw the series 'rebooted' with a single movie that used parts of the first three.

Worf was asleep, finding the phony ultra-violence boring. Jadzia was a popcorn-munching machine with a grin. Kira Nerys was soon to give up on this 'lost masterpiece' called Friday The Thirteenth.

Just not without commentary.

"I liked the mother in the original film a lot better."

-----------------

*I Gotta Rock*

Nog was not at all a happy Ferengi.

"Uncle, you promised to either purchase or help me make a costume for the Young Officers' Halloween Party. You call this thing a costume?"

Quark shrugged and pshawed his nephew.

"One of the greatest characters in all of Earth's literature wore this very costume in a Halloween story. You should be honored. Besides, it's economical."

Nog looked over the cheap white sheet that hung over him like a badly pitched tent. Worse, it didn't have only two eyeholes, but was littered with them all over. Nog heard the snickers already.

"Good Grief!"

-----------------

*Pity The Morningstar*

Dukat bled into the Pentagram, spoke the words, and saw the great horned beast leap up from the flames.

"Who summons me from my tasking of the eternally damned?"

"I do, mighty Satan. I am Gul Dukat of Cardassia. I too have fallen, and offer you my soul in exchange for even greater power, and revenge on my enemies that leaves them in abject despair, before their end."

The demon stared at Dukat, and heard laughter from above. He shook his head and sighed before replying.

"Are you at all familiar with the Earth saying about free milk and cows?"

* * *

*The Convert*

Sisko sat stunned at Shakaar's words.

"The Kai gave in?"

"Your surprise is also mine, Emissary. But when I asked about Halloween being allowed on Bajor, she shrugged and said that, since the celebration on Earth has long since been detached from any religious roots, it is to be regarded as harmless fun."

"First Minister, that sounds exactly like the sort of argument she usually rejects. I'd wager she wants something."

"Since she has given in entirely, Captain—I'd wager that she already has it."

In her private chambers, Winn Adami ran her fingers through her newfound treasure.

"Candy Corn!"

* * *

*The Doubter*

Jake Sisko pointed angrily at the spectral image of Jennifer Sisko.

"You are not my mother!"

The image seemed confident.

"I will prove to you that I am."

Jake laughed.

"Whatever you are, do you have any idea how many beings can pull this? And that's just the ones off the top of my head."

"I have a message for Ben. You must deliver it."

"No way. Unless you can prove who you are right now, I am out that door."

The image smiled, and said words that chilled Jake to his very core.

"Not before you change that shirt."

* * *

*See*

The plotter lectured his prisoners.

"People go through their lives hardly living them…"

One kept interrupting.

"One could argue that people are too involved in living their lives."

"I offer you a way to give your lives meaning once again…"

"By placing us in lethal traps with obscure solutions?"

"This is what I do to improve the world, my legacy…"

"I fear that your legacy will be small, violent people recalling your deadly traps.."

The Jigsaw Killer shouted.

"Computer, End Program!"

As the holosuite cleared around them, Bashir looked at Garak.

"Well, that was a first."

"For you perhaps, Doctor."


	8. Evil Beyond Measure

Summary : She descends into the past of the MU--and then....

--------------

Evil Beyond Measure  
by Rob Morris

The Prophet who once wore the form of Sarah Sisko descended into the dark realm  
of the so-called 'Mirror Universe'.

"The Emisarry will be born of us again. For the corrupted Bajor needs us more  
than any other, and so no price is too high to save it."

She found Joseph Sisko, as she had before in the world of her son.

"Joseph Sisko, I have sought you out to..."

But things were different. The afro-haired young man before her was no gourmet  
chef.

"Hey, Baby! Welcome to Joey S's Disco Emporium. Where the 1970's continues on  
4-Ever---DYN O MITE!!!"

A greasy looking greaser walked up, father to one of Sisko's crew in both  
realms.

"AAAAyyyy--I am Fonzie Bashir. We have a wet bar---sit on it!"

Before her pained eyes, the Sarah-Prophet saw rows of roller-skate dancers,  
moving to hideous strobe lights, while jumbo-trons played every single Brady  
Bunch show ever made. 'Alone Again Naturally' fought over the wall-sized  
speakers with 'Pop Muzik', 'Dance Theme To Close Encounters' and 'Angie Baby'.

Sarah turned and walked out, rising to rejoin her people. She said two words as  
she shed her mortal form.

"Screw Bajor."


	9. Ultimate Emissary

**Ultimate Emissary**  
by Rob Morris

The small hyper-bouncing gumball prize bounced all about the holographic Enemy HQ. When only two remained conscious, they moved on and out.

Once gone, Keiko O'Brien chuckled in sheer delight.

"Okay. That Alamo thing I will never understand. But you and Miles have got to bring me on in this spy scenario more often. When that torturer came out, I thought sure we were done."

Bashir held up his toy.

"We were immunized to the effects of the sedative this wonder spreads about. Were it not for the fact that you and Miles are friends, I wouldn't skip the next chapter."

Keiko raised a finger.

"Just do me a favor, Julian. When he gets back, make like we did the whole book--then run!"

So it was that the master spy and the self-reliant, very pretty business magnate who naturally had information that could end a terrorist plot made their way to Langley, Virginia, there to meet the head of the American CIA. Julian gasped to see his CO in the head office.

"Captain Sisko?"

The man with the eyepatch turned to look the two over, his looks hard-bitten and tough as nails.

"Sisko? Never heard of the man. Mister Bashir, permit me to introduce myself."

He smiled.

"I'm Nick Fury."


	10. Why We Endure

**Why We Endure**  
by Rob Morris

STATION LOG

Benjamin Sisko, Commanding Deep Space Nine

I watch the footage from Earth for the seventieth time today, and I am still silent as it unfolds. Casually, the Breen fighter alights onto the bottom of the cadet transport. Admiralty Tower is gone in a heartbeat. It falls down, breaking up and causing still more damage as it goes.

Tractor beams tear the Golden Gate to ribbons. Long, deadly ribbons that drag across the city before being released almost five kilometers above. This attack was not unplanned.

My old exobiology professor is shown leading Cadets out, just in time. But then, he's from Starfleet's first family, a group of dogged survivors from the time the Federation was founded. Someday, I'll have to show him the padd his uncle signed. Someday. But not this day.

We can't punish ourselves for being an open society. The Dominion are using The Breen as a battering ram, and Cardassia as a staging ground. I have to wonder if those Cardassians who cheered Dukat's signing of the Alliance Treaty as yet understand what's coming. Because while we will opt for the most life-affirming solution, we will also do what we have to, short of escalating to trilithium warfare. I hope they don't think this will merely be another strafing run, to be waited out. The ones who will pay the worst will be those that neither cheered nor spoke up.

The Founders must live in a cozy mental world. All their wrongs, set aside. All our actions, wrongs by definition. If we so much as lift a finger to defend ourselves, we are villains.

Our mindset is different. We know ourselves, warts and all. We don't want to breed people merely to die, hurling themselves at today's chosen foe. We have problems. We have injustices. We have major blind spots. We are slow to act, and often fuzzy when we do. On the other extreme, we too often give in to the instinct that has some among us invoking trilithium warfare, or pricking every finger, looking for shapeshifters.

But we also try not to breed the built-in misery of so-called ordered societies. When intelligence told us the Jem'Hadar were wiping out every last residual trace of the miniscule remains of The Old Cardassian Trading Consortium, I was not surprised. The Founders apparently were, though. Seems they underestimated the devotion they demanded from those they lathered up.

So it is that we will pay this atrocity back, in a manner strong enough to voice our anger, but restrained enough to ensure that our galaxy remains livable. We want and will have our revenge. Even if the Dominion forces survive as fugitive thugs, pecking at us and then running away, their miserable lives are about to become a lot more miserable. And eventually, we will penetrate the mindset of death and more death with the credo of life and respect for same. Our hands won't be clean at that time, any more than they are now. We won't expect that our sins can be just washed away quite that easily.

As a culture, we have the great and sadly almost unique gift of total self-awareness, with all its attendant strengths and weaknesses. We will gladly surrender neither aspect, merely to avenge a wound, or erase a scar, however deep and horrid those become.

That is why we endure.


End file.
